🌴 Tropical Permission 📖 Chapter Three: The Dinner Confession
He didn’t know this part of her. Now he can’t stop imagining it.
Hope you’re enjoying Tropical Permission so far! Chapter Three is where things really start to heat up. As always, feedback is welcomed and appreciated! 💋 – L.H.
Dinner stretched languidly past twilight and into the evening. They sat on a terrace overlooking the sea, the remains of grilled snapper and rare steak between them, two-thirds of a (second) bottle of wine gone, the air soft and salty against their skin.
James was relaxed in a way she loved. The best version of him that unfolded only on vacations or the tail end of lazy Sunday afternoons: limbs loose, humor dry, the ever-present mental gears of his brain dialed down to idle.
He also looked especially good tonight. A little flushed from the wine, cheeks slightly sun-warmed, hair wilder than usual. His linen shirt was unbuttoned just enough to make her imagine undoing the rest.
Conversation came easy: old stories, inside jokes, the shared shorthand of people who knew each other well and still wanted to know more.
“I think about that one-bedroom we had in Fort Greene all the time,” he said. “Remember? The closet was basically a cupboard.”
“With a slanted floor,” Diane said, grinning.
“And the guy upstairs who played sad trumpet at midnight.”
“No,” she corrected. “It wasn’t sad trump...it was bad trumpet.”
“Every fucking night.”
They laughed, and James reached across the table to touch her wrist, a small gesture that still made her stomach tighten.
“I would live in that shoebox again,” he said, “just to watch you dance around the kitchen in that oversized Knicks jersey.”
“You hated that jersey.”
“Sure. But you wore it without anything underneath.”
Diane laughed and sipped the last of her wine. Her skin still buzzing from the afternoon. From his mouth. From the way he’d looked at her in the red bikini. There was a current between them now, humming low and constant. She didn’t want to interrupt it.
She couldn’t entirely explain to herself why she said what she said next. Maybe it was the wine (and the cocktails prior) and mild sunburn. Maybe it was the confidence she felt in herself and her marriage after their first full day on vacation.
In any case, she told James, oh so casually, “You know, back in my early twenties - right after college - I dated a guy who had an even smaller place.” She let it sit there for a beat. “But he still managed to fit two other people into his bed.”
James cocked his head. “Wait. What?”
Diane gave a slow, wicked smile. “I mean, barely. We were all right on top of each other.”
He blinked. “Are you saying…”
“A threesome,” she said, then paused. “Well, two. But yeah.”
James sat back. “Alright.”
Suddenly she was wondering why she chose to reveal this particular detail at this particular moment.
“Alright?” She repeated.
“I mean. I don’t know what I mean. I didn’t…know that.”
“Would it have mattered if you did?”
He hesitated. “No. I guess not. Just… didn’t see that one coming in the dinner conversation rotation.”
Diane laughed lightly. “I didn’t plan it. It just came to mind.”
James looked out at the sea, then back at her. She could see him processing. Not judging, recalibrating. His fingers tapped the stem of his wine glass.
“Two guys?”
She nodded.
“Both times?”
She nodded.
James gave a short exhale through his nose. More of a snort than a laugh. “Damn.”
She watched his face closely now. He wasn’t angry. But he’d retreated slightly, just a step or two, into some private space in his head. Diane recognized it. He didn’t do jealousy, not in the usual ways. But there were moments when his need to understand her tripped over the edge of his comfort.
“It was a long time ago,” she said, gently now. “Right after college. Then again when I was traveling.”
He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. “And you never mentioned it because…?”
She shrugged. “Because I didn’t want you to think it meant something about who I am now. Or about us.”
That landed. His gaze returned to her, more focused now. “I don’t,” he said. “It doesn’t.”
He meant it. She knew that. But she could tell he was still sitting with it. Folding it into the picture of her he’d held for five years. Diane suddenly wondered what his picture of her had looked like until now. How much of it she’d curated. How much he’d filled in on his own. She knew that now he was filling that picture with images of her getting fucked by two guys.
“I’m not mad,” he said, unprompted. “Just surprised.”
“Surprised in a good way?”
He opened his mouth to answer and then paused, just for a second.
“I think so,” he admitted. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
She smiled. “Deal.”
They stood and wandered down to the beach. The breeze had picked up, cooling the sweat at her lower back. James didn’t take her hand at first, but he walked close enough that their arms brushed. His expression was unreadable but not distant, just turned inward.
They talked about other things: the massage tomorrow, the way the bartender had definitely overpoured her drink, whether they should try snorkeling. Slowly, his shoulders loosened again.
Back in their villa, Diane stepped into the bathroom to brush her teeth and splash her face. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say. She wasn’t entirely sure why she threw it out there. But she felt strangely proud of doing so - and the way James had handled it. Curious, thoughtful, a little thrown, but not retreating.
When she came out in a camisole and nothing else, James was already under the covers, shirtless, one arm behind his head.
He didn’t look bothered anymore.
He looked curious.
“Come here,” he said. “And tell me how you got three people on that little bed.”
Diane slid beneath the sheets. Her heart thudded, steady and strong. The door she’d nudged open hadn’t closed behind her.
It was still swinging, wider now.
Want more? Read Chapter 4 here.
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He's intrigued and she's set the hook without knowing it yet. Damn good writing and has me headed for the next chapter!